


take you apart, and slowly

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, and unshamedly hodge podging different bits of peter pan lore together, canon divergent in a big way, not dark but dark enough, smut with substance, that means ignoring entire arcs and relying solely on headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:02:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>she thought it was safe to leave her window open again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take you apart, and slowly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valkyriens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyriens/gifts).



> the one in front will want to take you apart, and slowly. his deft and stubby fingers searching every shank and lock for weaknesses.

Months have passed, but Neverland still dances behind her eyes and she is plagued by troublesome thoughts of the Pan. She supposes this is her punishment for choosing to leave _(escape),_ commandeering his shadow to help her do so. A fitting punishment, she thinks. For a queen to abandon her realm is the highest sort of disgrace.

It's a wonder that he hasn't come after her yet, but as the days turned into weeks and months without him or his shadow slinking across her windowsill, she feels he has forgotten about her. Children are forgetful and careless, casting aside their playthings and replacing them just as easily. It would make sense for the eternal boy king to be the very epitome of this.

She wishes it wasn’t this way, a girlish wish, almost as silly as she’d learned thimbles were in the face of the Pan’s ferocious desire for her. 

After all, Wendy Darling should be glad she escaped Neverland. She should be glad that its ruler hasn’t come looking for her to punish her for going against his will. 

The only thing she can bring herself to be glad of is that she managed to steal her brothers away that night as well. 

When she falls asleep at night, she dreams of a forest canopy over her head, the weak morning sunlight filtering through, the sound of cicadas and panting, sweaty limbs and pleasure so acute she is certain she may die from it.

OOO

Wendy’s week passes without incident. She mostly spends it in the company of her mother, having been deemed too old to remain with the children when she turned sixteen. She is glad for this, in a way. John and Michael are a constant reminder of her time in Neverland and, though they were too young to understand the entirety of what happened to her, the sting of shame that curls sharp in her chest is too much to bear.

Mother fills the silence with idle chatter about cotillions and the promise of suitors now that she is nearing marriageable age. Even then she can’t help thinking of the pseudo-husband she left behind.

He would be angry if he heard her and her mother’s casual conversations about such things, she muses. 

No, more than angry. 

He would be furious. He’d proven time and again that he never did share well.

After dinner, a quiet affair as her father was away on business and John was at a friend’s, she has a maidservant draw a cool bath for her. It is unseasonably hot for spring and sweat mats the hair at the nape of her neck.

She crosses over to her windows and throws them open, leaning out and watching the people on the street below. A cool breeze toys with her hair and Wendy sighs. It is far too hot to sleep without the window open and after months of no sign of Peter, she finally feels safe to leave it so.

Wendy can hear the rest of the household preparing for bed as she sinks into the tub behind the elaborate screen partitioning it from the rest of her bedroom. 

Leaning her head against the rim, she thinks almost wistfully of Neverland, of Peter Pan and their nights in the hollowed out Hangman’s Tree. He consumes her every thought and it has occurred to her on more than one occasion that, were it not for John and Michael, she would probably have remained by his side as his heathen queen, fighting and clawing and spitting at him as he tried again and again to exert his dominance over her.

The water begins to warm and she climbs out and gets ready for bed, pulling on a plain white nightgown and finding her brush. Sighing, Wendy slowly begins plucking at the wet knots in her hair, combing them out carefully.

When she is done, she lies back, curls up on her side and watches the sky.

She isn’t able to sleep; the heat is almost oppressive on her body. Neverland was like this, but there she was free to run from the claustrophobia that is plaguing her too. Now she can do nothing but hope for a kind breeze to visit her window.

In the end, the breeze does come, but it’s what it brings with it that has her less than grateful.

Wendy sits bolt upright, her eyes widened in shock.

The Pan’s soft leather boots touch the windowsill silently and it’s like she’s seeing a ghost. But how could a ghost look at her with such barely disguised lust?

Neither of them says a thing, Wendy too outright shocked to do more than gape stupidly at him and he too busy savouring the moment and the expression on her face and calculating how best to leave her bruised by his words.

“So this is what you left me for,” he finally says. “A soft bed and pretty dresses. I suppose I could have given you that, had you asked.”

“You were always less than kind,” she spits, shock being quickly by boiling rage, her first words to him in over ten months coming from a place of deep bitterness and anger and a desire to _hurt._ “I wanted nothing from you. I wanted nothing to do with you.”

A lie, she knows. But a lie meant to cut him to the quick. 

A flutter of something crosses his features but it’s gone before she can assign a name to it and crow with triumph. 

“You’ve become bitter, Wendybird. You are growing up faster than I expected. But it’s not too late to undo the damage. Some time in Neverland ought to be enough to halt the growing pains, I think.”

“What makes you think I’m going to go back there?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?” he snarls. “You are _mine_. You belong to _me._ The second you gave my shadow your hand, you became mine.”

Panic knots in her belly and something darker, more feral gathers in her chest. 

He _wanted_ her. It went unsaid. But some things don’t need saying. A different kind of triumph swells in her chest, a womanly sort. That feeling that one gets when faced by the desire of a man.

A hot lance of yearning slices through her and she wants to invite Peter back into her body, give of herself the way she only has with him. But she cannot. Not with her mother down the hall and Michael in the nursery alongside her. 

Wendy understands too that to do so will mean she cedes to his wishes. And _that_ is the one thing she will not do. Peter has made her as wild and vicious as he is and she will not be cowed this time.

“I am not the same girl who left you!” she snaps angrily.

Peter’s too thin face is impassive as he catalogues the changes in her body. Her hair has grown, now a tumble of curls tidily held back from her face by a soft pink ribbon. The angles of her face are a lot sharper. And her _eyes_. There is dark knowledge in her eyes that he knows he placed there. His Wendybird is more composed and yet at the same time more wild and savage than he has ever seen her.

Wendy does the same and though she cannot put her finger on just what it is, she notes that there is a change in him too. The longer she looks, the more apparent it becomes that he is different. He also is not the same boy she left behind.

When he rounds her bed and leans in close, she realises just what it is that makes him so. 

His eyes are hungry and cruel as they have ever been, but there is thinly veiled torment in them too. 

“Why are you here?” she is almost too afraid to ask.

Ten months is a long time and after all those nights of apprehensive waiting, it seems almost anticlimactic that he would step over her windowsill on a late spring evening without any announcement or prior warning There is no reason for it either. By rights, she should have slipped his mind by now and he would have led the Lost Boys forever while she moved on with the life she would build here. It made no sense for him to be in her room looking as starved for her as he had the first time he’d taken her on the furs on the floor of their ramshackle home concealed within the Hangman’s Tree.

“You left. I never gave you permission for that.” His eyebrow quirks.

“I left to save my brothers,” she hisses. “I didn’t want that life for them.”

“You could have sent the shadow away with them,” His dark eyes flash angrily. “It listened to you more than it did me. _You_ didn’t need to leave.”

“Maybe I wanted to,” she ventures boldly.

Almost immediately, she realises just how stupid saying that was. Wendy is pinned to the bed with the Pan hovering above her, dark and terrible and furious. 

_“Liar,”_ he hisses, his breath hot against her mouth as he presses in. “I hate it when you lie.”  


“Why did you come?” she cries, wriggling against him and drawing a pained groan from his lips.

“Your window was open,” he grits out.

“It being closed didn’t stop you before!”

“It was the first time you’ve left it open since you came back!” Peter snaps.

They both stop short at his admission. Fury unfurls on his face and the realisation that she will be punished for this horrible show of vulnerability washes over her. Surprisingly, she does not feel an ounce of fear. Only want and that raw ugly triumph again.

His mouth descends on hers and when they meet, teeth clacking and drawing blood, Wendy realises she could not have gone on without this. The Pan is an extension of her as much as she is of him and Neverland. He forces his way in, plundering her mouth unapologetically, swallowing her moans and keeping them in his chest.

She gasps hotly into his mouth when he cups her through her nightgown. The sweet ache that has lingered between her legs is a vicious throbbing now and _god_ she wants more. He pulls the thin cotton above her waist and over her head, completely exposing her to him. 

The look of approval that grows on his face makes lust burn in her stomach. She knows she has filled out since leaving Neverland and she touched herself to her imaginings of his reaction to her newly developed curves. She didn’t think it would be anything like _this_ though. She is burning so much that if he doesn’t do something about it now, she might just scream.

Peter fists her hair and pulls back, exposing her neck for his exploration. It’s Wendy’s turn to groan now and her eyes squeeze shut, blocking out the image of the canopy of her bed so she can imagine a canopy of trees overhead in its place. 

He palms her breast, fondling roughly, strumming the nipple before dipping his head and sipping it between his lips and grazing it with his sharp teeth. 

_“Peter,”_ she cries. “Oh, Peter, _please.”_

Peter’s long thin fingers rub the seat of her pleasure, ghosting over her clit teasingly. Her hand joins his and she demands a more forceful touch, guiding him to find her pleasure. Soon he is nudging her hand away and completely taking over; two of his fingers crook within her while his thumb strokes her nub. He watches her hungrily with those dark eyes of his and that growing sharp grin causes a flood of moisture to gather between her legs. She is damp and sticky and panting, her breasts heaving in a way that makes the Pan harden to the point of pain.

Wendy peaks with a muffled cry, one that feels to her altogether too loud, given the proximity of her parents’ bedroom, his name on her lips.

Lying splayed open before him, she watches as he hurriedly peels off his dirty tunic, shucks his trousers and clambers towards her with all the eagerness of a puppy. His mouth crashes against hers desperately and he relearns the sounds and sensations that make her Wendy, _his_ Wendy.

His cock brushes her mound and she whimpers against his mouth, trying to pull away and get closer at the same time.

“Wendy,” he rasps. 

His fingers bite into her thighs as he holds them open and he sinks into her, eyes shut and lips parted and so savagely beautiful that it stops her breath. 

It burns uncomfortably, but she finds that it’s better to think on the pleasure that she knows she and Peter will find. He won’t stop to think of her comfort so it is easier not to ask. He has always been a selfish, unthinking lover.

The Pan fucks her brutally, holding her left leg pinned to his thigh. Wendy rolls her hips to meet him and they settle into a familiar rhythm that has them both shuddering in mere minutes. 

Peter leans forward, resting his chest on hers. His eyes glitter in the dark and she can see purpose in them, an intention she cannot escape. She is not sure she wants to.

“You’re coming back. We have more need for you than this place does,” he snarls.

When he pinches her clit roughly, she gasps. “I _can’t.”_

A sneer appears on his lips. “You can. You _will._ I will not tolerate the absence of you any longer, Wendy Moira Angela Darling.”

_“No.”_

His fingers bite into her thigh again as his face contorts with anger. “Why not?”

“Because you— _ah_ — haven’t asked me.”

Peter glowers at her, looking, if such a thing were possible, more irate than before. “The Pan does not _beg.”_

_“Ask_ me.” she insists, her hips canting up to meet his. If he can swallow his pride and show her just how much he wants her… The thought is swaying dangerously in her mind. She’ll examine it later; pick it apart for weaknesses, but right now, if Peter asked it of her, she would return with him.

He wavers with indecision. She can see the confusion and conflict darting across his face. But she will stand firm. Wendy Moira Angela Darling will not be stolen again. If she goes, she goes willingly. 

Peter sees the determination in her expression, knows then that she will not come unless she is given the choice and he bends to her will.

“Come back,” he demands hoarsely against her breast, thrusting harder against her with the end in sight. “I need you. Neverland needs its queen. Neither—of us is _whole_ without you.”

“Oh, _God,”_ she whimpers. 

“Say you will,” he pleas and that undoes her. The Pan never asks. He takes. And he certainly doesn’t _plea._

Wendy can barely form the word, she rolls it like a sweet on her tongue, but when she does, a gleeful smirk splits his face.

 _“Yes,_ oh God, Peter, _yes.”_

His mouth finds hers and she can taste his victory, can trace it on his lips. She finds her release with her palms pressed to his cheeks, drinking in his elation.

With another pained groan, he spills inside her, staining her cotton sheets when he pulls out and rolls to the side. Peter presses against Wendy, demanding her attention when he splays his hand over the small of her back and draws her close.

Their noses touch and he grins down at her triumphantly.

She is quiet, unsmiling.

OOO

Wendy Moira Angela Darling strokes the mousey brown hair on her youngest brother’s head. She smiles. Michael is as angelic in his sleep as he is in his waking hours.

She would miss him.

From the other bed, John’s loud snores hitch and she stills and turns towards him, but he carries on sleeping with a mumble and another snort.

She isn’t sure she will miss _that._

 _That is unkind,_ she chides herself. _I will never see him again. Today was my last day with them._

After a heated argument, one which ended up with them clawing at each other in rage, the Pan had yielded and given her one day to say goodbye.

Leaving home means leaving her family again. This time she knows it’s for keeps. She will not be able to come back and that means no growing old and leading a happy content little life, just savagery and cruelty and an endless forever at the Pan’s side.

And though she is hardly sure what she has gotten herself into, somehow she cannot bring herself to care.

Because this time she will not be stolen and this time she will not have to leave.

**Author's Note:**

> i certainly didn't mean for this to happen but too many hours spent with nina screaming about junglesex caused a smut battle and then this. i am so ashamed because i filled this in less than 12 hours but i've been sitting with other prompts for more tha a month now. i guess the way to my muse is with smut. *shrugs*
> 
> okay so my peter ended up being a sort of halfway between ouat and peter pan 2003 and my own wistful headcanons. i'm surprisingly okay with that because i don't think i could have pulled off a dark!pan fic. and my wendy wasn't supposed to be so pliable but i've always liked the thought of her being an extension of neverland so. heh she has pan's balls in her fist tbh.
> 
> hey did you notice my reference to the hangman's tree. aren't i clever.
> 
> shut up it was delightfully missionary.
> 
> wow i really like the word triumph.
> 
> richard siken is better than you.
> 
> it's late. i need to piss off now.


End file.
